#jd4short

[venustrapearch]

“you  know ,  let’s  keep  this  moving .” (for maya)

she has a nose for bad news. it's not an extraordinary skill – not when she'd already spent so much of her life falling in that exact category. there was a group of people she'd once considered friends. people she now thought of simply as the company she kept when the worst parts of herself begged to be unleashed. the anger needed a release, the guilt needed to be swallowed & the world needed to pay for their respective misfortunes. they enabled the crap out of each other. & every time she catches glimpses of jd, she's reminded of just that. but talking to him again ? that was so far off her radar. " keep it mov- what the hell, slow down ! " she barks as he drags her down the hallway, instinctively looking over her shoulder & wondering what exactly they're moving away from. or who. she yanks her arm the second they find themselves in an empty classroom, wide gaze staring his way in a completely baffled state. " seriously ?! " bag is tossed on an empty chair, blues storming with annoyance. " who did you piss off & why exactly am i now a part of it ? "

@jd4short | meme

[publicabsent]

@jd4short: "Every scar has a story, right?" / accepting.

she gives him a wary, sidelong look. as true as it is, she's not exactly one for sharing those stories. the few scars she hasn't got concealed can be shrugged off as some childhood mishap -- except her hands. the printless tips & thick scarred-over gash on her left palm raise plenty of questions, to be sure, but neither are stories she cares to tell. annette retreats a little bit, turning to her notebook & beginning to write. not every story is one worth telling. especially not where scars are involved. she then slides the notebook to where he can see.

[publicabsent]

@jd4short: “i didn’t think you had it in you .” / accepting.

to be fair, she doesn't talk much. or even, really, at all. especially not in the company of people she doesn't know. annette hadn't even realized her quietly-mumbled words had been heard at all, so her deer-in-the-headlights expression is genuine. "wh - what ... t-t-tal-lk-kin-ng ... ?" while the question is genuine, it may sound sardonic. "... s-s-sorr-ry."

[publicabsent]

@jd4short: “you seriously think i could’ve done this ?” / accepting.

wide-eyed, the medium doesn't quite respond. she simply stares, hazel eyes flitting from piece to piece of the, frankly, somewhat incriminating scene in front of her. & perhaps she's falling victim to the old tale of buying into what little gossip she's overheard, or judging a book by its cover, or some other old platitude. "i d - i d-don-n' kn-now -- d-does-sn' l-look g-g-good."

[nightsprung]

incorrect quotes: this is a daily conversation between roommates, featuring jordan riley and jason dean ( @jd4short )

[girlmisfit]

❝       heartbreak       is       one       thing,       ──       my       ego is       another.       ❞

@jd4short / liked.

[slash-aaa]

most days, she found herself in the morgue, working away on dead people and whistling a tune while she does so ( a girl couldn't really get too lonely with a bunch of corpses around, could she? ). this morning, however, jack wanted all hands on deck, which meant her, brian, and jimmy had spent the first few hours after waking up taking samples from their newest crime scene. the blonde remained hyperfocused for the hours they had spent inside, scraping blood into small bags, getting her pink gloves dirty in the process. she tells the boys that they're doing a good job, and they wrap up in the late afternoon, switching places with the clean up crew. upon exiting the house, she sees that someone has gotten onto the other side of the yellow tape, and her brows raise swiftly, glancing around for jack, to no prevail. taking a breath, barbie approaches with a friendly grin. 'excuse me, hi - i'm so sorry, but you actually can't be in here,' hand ushers around to the crime scene cut off by waving, plastic streamers. 'let me walk you out,' @jd4short.

[mertevil]

"love the trench coat. very milán chic - despite, you know, being from a last season sale at walmart."

french tips of her acrylic nails tap on the small café table, bare legs crossed and designer sunglasses lowering to glance at the young man that has now parked his motorcycle right next to where she sits. not the usual crowd of the patisserie she frequents just to buy a cup of black coffee with two bags of artificial sweetener (a bagel there could be worth more than his shoes), still, kathryn is bored, and boredom is hell on a rich, spoiled upper east side bitch.

" this is a bold fashion choice to say the least. but you get points for having the decency to combine your shades of black," a sip of her coffee, eyes roam over his attire, focus on his face. boyish charm, a slight danger to it. kathryn ponders what she can do with him for the time being, "you can call me kathryn. enchantée." @jd4short